The Newsie Princess of Brooklyn
by Dakki
Summary: Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly were once much closer than they are now, and with Spot's little sister Samantha they were the newsie royalty of Brooklyn. Now that Jack and Sammy are grown up, can they make it as the King and Queen of New York? Complete.
1. Apples At Midnight

*~*~*  
  
The Newsie Princess Of Brooklyn  
  
*~*~*  
  
I've known Jack forever. I knew him when he was still Francis Sullivan, since before he was even a newsie, and I'll know him after newsies are a thing of the past.  
  
It was my brother Spot that got him in the business in the first place. After his father got thrown in jail, we were his family. He was fifteen and looked twenty; I was thirteen and looked ten. Spot took him home, fed him, put money in his pocket and showed him the ropes. He's nice like that. Even though he would never let anyone think it.  
  
People would be surprised to learn that I was a newsie before the great Jack Kelly. But when I was as young as six Spot would take me out to help him. I was cute then-I'm not good-looking enough to sell papes anymore, Spot likes to say, at which point I am inclined to box his ears-and could beg a nickel off anyone. I was a skinny kid, and we made sure to dirty my face and dull my blonde hair with dust, and I would play the poor little girl that had to go to bed hungry. Spot would ham it up, telling people he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he couldn't feed his baby sister, and didn't they wanted to buy more than that? Those were the best times I had, out on the street corners with Spot when he was still just my big brother and not the newsie king of Brooklyn. Those were the best times of my life. Until Jack came.  
  
He learned fast, Jack. He was always smart. And Spot taught him well. Within a month he was one of the best, and that year our friendship was at its strongest. On summer nights we would stay out on the docks until dawn- it was too hot to sleep, or even talk. It was when we were still a family, when we could still talk about anything. Spot and Jack and I were thick as thieves back then-the newsie royalty of Brooklyn. And then Jack left. And nothing was the same again.  
  
The days got shorter and the times tougher. Jack still visited, but it wasn't the same, and Spot and I grew farther and farther apart, with days going by without us even talking. Three years passed in a blur of headlines and shouting and pennies and papes, papes, papes. I was sixteen and I couldn't play cute anymore, instead tucking my long hair under a cap Jack had left behind and calling in a voice coarse with regret-as usual, I had only realized how I felt by the time it was too late to take action. Because by that time the strike had come and gone, and with it came glory for Jack and the rest of the newsies, newspaper articles and rallies and the end of the refuge. And Sarah.  
  
But I didn't have to think about that. I was sitting on the dock with Jack. It was nearly midnight, and chilly-Autumn had at last arrived-but I was never one to complain. We were alone together, for the first time I could remember in nearly a year. We sat cross-legged on the bare wood, and Jack had an apple out, cutting it into wafer-thin slices with his pocket knife and dividing them between us. The moon was bright and full. If you could see beyond the smog and the lights and the stink of fish, it was really almost beautiful.  
  
The strike had been over for near two weeks, and Jack was telling me, for the thousandth time, about his ride in Teddy Roosevelt's carriage. I never tired of the story, and it was a good thing, too; I suspected I would be hearing it until the day I that I died. Jack cut another slice from the apple and handed it to me. I put it in my mouth, letting the sharp flavor melt on my tongue; I hadn't eaten all day and only realized it when I took that first bite.  
  
"...and then, when I got back, Sarah was waitin' for me." He smiled. "An' you know the rest."  
  
I nodded dully. "Jack," I said quickly, before I could think better of it or even think at all, "do you care about me?"  
  
"Jesus, Sammy, what kind of a question is that?" he said. "I do. Of course I do. I love you like-"  
  
"A sister," I finished for him, sighing almost inaudibly and taking another slice of apple from his outstretched hand.  
  
"No," Jack said. "Not like a sister. Like...a brother."  
  
"A brother?" I said, less hurt than confused.  
  
"Yeh, like a brother. I mean...I can talk to you about things. Things I could say to the guys, y'know? You're one of my best friends, Sam. I can say anything to you, and you'll understand. Not like other girls. I mean take Sarah-I'm crazy about her, but I can say things t' you that I could never say to her."  
  
I blushed from head to toe. Thank god it was too dark for him to see me. "How is Sarah?" I said reluctantly.  
  
And how was Sarah? Oh, wonderful, just as she always was. She was sweet and smart and so, so pretty. Hearing this I couldn't help but compare myself to her. I was sixteen now, but I still looked like I was twelve. More accurately, I still looked like I was twelve and male. I had seen Sarah before. She was a real lady, and not only that, she was a woman. My hair was the only thing that kept people from thinking I was a boy. It was, as Spot said, yellow as a lemon pie, and it had never been cut. Still, I looked down at my stubborn body, as if it might have changed that night. It hadn't, but I saw now that I was shivering, and Jack must have too, because he took off his coat and offered it to me that second.  
  
"Jack, don't be stupid, I'm fine," I said, but he gave it to me anyway, and gratefully I accepted. Helping me to put it on his rough hands brushed my neck. I felt like I was going to melt right there. But who was I kidding? Sarah was pretty as a picture and he was head-over-heels in love with her. I would just have to be happy with apples at midnight.  
  
"Come on," said Jack, startling me. "We should go. I gotta get back to the lodgin' house, you know how it is. C'mon, Sam." He took my hand and lead me inside. When he left me a few minutes later, I didn't watch him go.  
  
*~*~* 


	2. Breakfast With The King Of Brooklyn

*~*~*  
  
The Newsie Princess Of Brooklyn  
  
*~*~*  
  
The next morning, I went to eat breakfast with Spot. We hadn't really talked in a while, and he wanted to catch up with me. I knew he thought something was wrong with me, and wouldn't hesitate to say something about it, but I agreed to go just as well. A girl has to eat sometime.  
  
It was a big meal. Eggs, bacon, toast with jam, oatmeal and black coffee- the same thing Spot and I had been ordering since the beginning of time. I was starving on the way over but once my food came I only picked erratically at my eggs, my appetite suddenly gone. We managed to make small talk for a while, the words flowing between us becoming more and more strained as we conversed about sports and the bridge and finally, desperately, weather, until at last an uncomfortable silence fell on our table. I took a sip of my coffee, willing myself not to make eye contact with him as I waited for him to break the silence.  
  
"Sam," he said at last, "what's wrong with you?"  
  
"What do you mean?" I said innocently.  
  
"You been actin' strange lately," he said. "Like a goil in love."  
  
It was a joke to him, of course, as it would have been to anyone else. I slept in the lodging house with all the other newsies, could sell a hundred papes a day and defend myself as good as any boy, maybe even better than some. The idea of me doing something stupid like falling in love was, needless to say, completely out of the question.  
  
"Sammy?" Spot said, when I didn't answer for a time. I looked up at him miserably. "Oh, shit," said Spot. "You aint joking?"  
  
Did I really need to answer?  
  
"Well who is it?" he prompted. "Tell me. I won't make fun."  
  
"I can't. It's too embarrassing."  
  
"C'mon, Sammy," he said impatiently. "It can't be that bad. It's not like you're sweet on Jack." He began to laugh at the very thought of it, only stopping when he saw the look on my face. "Sam. Yer not serious." I shook my head. "I can't believe it. My little sister has the hots for Jack Kelly."  
  
"Aw, shut your pie-hole, Spot."  
  
"You know, if you wasn't my sister, I'd-"  
  
"Yeh, and if you wasn't my brother I'd do the same." I looked up at him. "This isn't funny, you know."  
  
"I know it aint," he said. "I know it. Jesus, Sam, how long has this thing been goin' on?"  
  
"I dunno," I mumbled. "Few months. But it doesn't matter anyhow. He's got Sarah now, remember?"  
  
"Oh, Sarah," he said dismissively.  
  
"Oh, Sarah," I mimicked.  
  
"Sam, do you really think she's worthy competition for you? I bet she can't even cuss proper."  
  
"And you think that's a bad thing?" I laughed.  
  
"Sure it is," he said seriously. "Sam, if Jack don't want you then he don't know what he wants. 'Cause you're the newsie princess of Brooklyn, and no goil can do better than that."  
  
I couldn't help but smile. Spot's kindness was rarely visible, but when it came out it was sincere as anything and always badly needed. Even if I didn't believe him, I could still take comfort in his words.  
  
"Thanks, Spot," I said quietly.  
  
"You feel better now?"  
  
"Yeh."  
  
"Good," he said, grinning. "Now eat your eggs."  
  
*~*~*  
  
It would be nearly a week before I heard the name Jack Kelly again, but when I did it was to be connected to the best news I had heard in months. Spot was the one who told me, sidling proudly over to tell me while I stood on my street-corner shouting that Roosevelt had just died--Margaret Roosevelt, aged nineteen, that I: on a slow day, the obits can be a newsie's most useful tool).  
  
"Sam," he said, "you'll never guess what just happened." I looked at him inquisitively. "I just talked to Jack. He wants you t' come over tomorrow night. For dinner."  
  
For a split-second I thought *this is it-this is it-he finally knows*--but then I caught myself. There had to be some sort of catch. "Alone?" I asked stupidly, unable to stop myself.  
  
"Well, no," Spot said reluctantly. "At the Jacobses."  
  
"This might be news to you, Spot, but it don't count as a date if his girlfriend's there."  
  
"I know, but still...it's something, aint it?"  
  
"Yeh," I said, halfheartedly, "it's something."  
  
"Sam, this is your chance-you know that, don't you?"  
  
I sighed. "Don't you think it isn't right to try to steal him from Sarah? He's completely in love with her, anyone with half a brain can see that."  
  
Spot grinned. "That's 'cause he don't know better, sis. But we'll fix that-just you wait."  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC... P.S.-great big mutant shout-outs from space to anyone and everyone who reviewed or even read. I hope you like the saga just as much as the first chapter...anyone who thinks of the meanest thing possible to do to Sarah Jacobs gets tickets to New York City circa 1899 and a free meal at Tibby's for you and your favorite newsie...and remember, my fellow fanficcers: summaries don't sell fics-fanficcers sell fics. 


	3. Something Like Hope

*~*~*  
  
The Newsie Princess Of Brooklyn  
  
*~*~*  
  
"Okay, Spot, I'm ready. Button me up."  
  
I pulled back the sheet that we had strung up so I could change. There was no one in the lodging house, but somebody could have walked in at any moment. And the idea of someone seeing me in a dress was just about as humiliating as someone seeing me in nothing at all.  
  
Spot sidled in and, without a word, began to fasten the back. I could tell by the look on his face that he was having more than a little trouble keeping his mouth shut.  
  
Originally I had planed to wear my normal clothes. But just as I was beginning to get ready to leave that morning Spot burst in, a blue dress held awkwardly in his arms. I kept asking myself why I had even tried it on, and the answer, invariably, was that I was just being polite-but I knew that wasn't the truth. If I was going to try to get somebody to fall in love with me, they had to first be aware of the fact that I was female. Besides, if Spot hadn't given it to me I probably would have just bought one myself, and I didn't want to dip into my savings. All the money I had was in a cigar box under my mattress, where I had been saving my pennies, on and off, since I was fourteen years old. When I had enough I was going to buy two tickets to Santa Fe.  
  
"Well, how do I look?" I said tentatively, fidgeting unconsciously with my hair.  
  
A mile-wide grin cracked across Spot's face. "Like a porcelain doll," he said.  
  
"Do I want to look like a porcelain doll?"  
  
"Sam, you're pretty as a picture," Spot said. "Trust me. I got this dress from very reliable sources."  
  
"Yeh, and what would that be? A clothes line?"  
  
"Only the best for my sister."  
  
I looked in the mirror, still unsure. I couldn't remember the last time I had worn a dress. It was a plain one, a simple sky-blue with a high neck and long leg-o'-mutton sleeves. I didn't want to move in it, afraid I would trip on the skirt. But I had done my best. I had washed my hair and brushed it out straight, scrubbed my face and hands and pinched my cheeks to make them red. From here on out, I would just have to hope for the best.  
  
"I feel naked in so many clothes," I remarked, turning around to leave. "Well...wish me luck."  
  
"Wait a minute," Spot said suddenly  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Just-close your eyes fer a second. And turn around."  
  
Obediently, I moved to face the wall, and, not trusting me, Spot clamped his hand over my eyes. I could hear him rummaging for something in his pocket and, taking his hand from my face, fastened it around my neck.  
  
I didn't have to open my eyes to see that it was a necklace. I didn't have to open my eyes, either, to see that it was an opal pendant on a silver chain, the stone slightly chipped in one corner, and the chain slightly tarnished with age. I didn't have to open my eyes to recognize it as the necklace that had belonged to our mother, the only piece of jewelry that I had ever owned. But I opened them anyway.  
  
"I had no idea you'd kept this for so long," I said quietly.  
  
"Sure I did. Hey, ya never when your sister's got some man stealin' to do." I turned around, startled. He winked at me. I couldn't help but smile.  
  
I started out the door. I had two bits, a stolen dress, my mother's necklace, and something like hope. What more could a girl want?  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC... 


	4. Left In The Dark

(A/N: the prize for coming up with the worst thing to do to Sarah goes to Chelsea, for the idea of kicking her ass all the way to the Brooklyn docks, where Spot will sling-shot her out into the Atlantic. It was difficult to choose, however, especially with Sapphy's killing-two-birds-with-one-stone approach, and also the memorable submission of setting her on fire (the mental image of Sarah running around in flames was enough to make me fall of my chair. Twice) Chelsea, in order to collect your prize, please retrieve the Magic Purple Skip-It from Blue Kat. Maybe she'll give you the money for dinner, too. Then again, I wouldn't count on it. :--)  
  
*~*~*  
  
The Newsie Princess Of Brooklyn  
  
*~*~*  
  
When Jack opened the door and saw me standing there, he looked like he'd just inhaled a fly.  
  
"Don't...say...anything," I warned, my voice low.  
  
He swallowed. Audibly. "Sorry, Sam, it's just...you look nice, that's all."  
  
"Jack, if you're teasing me, I-"  
  
"No!" He said quickly. "I'm not. Honest. It's just-" but, luckily for him and his pride, Sarah came to the door just then.  
  
"Oh, hello, Samantha," she said coolly, stepping in front of Jack and effectively blocking my view. "Nice to see you again."  
  
"Nice to see you too," I said.  
  
She hesitated a second, was quiet a beat too long. I saw her look me up and down and for the thousandth time cursed my pale complexion for showing even the slightest hint of blush. "Well!" she said brightly. "Come inside and make yourself at home."  
  
I had already met David and Les, of course. Les was a sweet boy, and David nice in his own way, although he still had far to go. And after hearing Jack talk about the Jacobs family so much, I felt like I already knew their parents. And they were good people, fitting his descriptions perfectly. Sitting down to dinner with them I could see how happy he was about all of this. Because, in the end, Sarah could give him something I never could: a family.  
  
The dinner was as uneventful as it could have been. Jack and I were seated across the table from each other, with Sarah, of course, beside him. The conversation was still centered on the strike, and although the food was delicious I can barely recall what we ate. My mind was on other things.  
  
Envy is not only the most common and unattractive of the human vices, but the most difficult to hide as well. We had enough envy at that table to make up for all the virtuousness of the rest of the world. It made me sad to be pitted against someone who by all means was a kind and decent person. Maybe she wasn't the type that I would have been friends with-she was sugar and spice and everything nice, the kind of girl who would cut the peel from the apple in one long strip and then throw it on the floor to reveal the initial of her future husband-there was nothing about her that I could bring myself to hate. I wished there was, though. It would have been so much easier that way.  
  
The only part of the conversation I really remember happened near the end of the meal, when Mrs. Jacobs asked me how I had come to know Jack.  
  
"Well, that's an awful long story," I said. I had a feeling that I was out of the red zone with them; I had spent most of the evening doing my underprivileged-charm routine, the same trick Jack had undoubtedly used a few weeks before. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"  
  
Everyone looked at me in a go-ahead sort of way.  
  
"Well, one day my brother Spot comes home with Jack trailing behind him like a puppy. And he wasn't the handsome fella you see here before you now," I continued, grinning. "He was all scrawny and skinny-" Jack made a face at me here, and playfully I made one back "--and couldn't sell twenty a day if his life depended on it. But he said he didn't have a job or a place to stay, so Spot taught him the finer points of newsiedom, let him live with us a while, and the rest is history."  
  
"So you two...really have a history, don't you?" Sarah said.  
  
"Yeh," Jack said proudly. "We do."  
  
*~*~*  
  
After dinner ended, I, being the helpful guest, helped to do the dishes, drying them as David washed. We talked easily about this and that, out conversation always returning to the strike that we had yet to stop recounting, like children lying awake in their beds the day after Christmas, listing in their heads the presents they had received.  
  
"So you sellin' a hundred papes a day yet?" I asked, drying between the crooked tines of a fork.  
  
"I'm getting closer," he said modestly. "A few days ago I sold nearly eighty."  
  
"Not bad."  
  
"Well, I am learning from the best."  
  
I concentrated on my dishrag. Every conversation always seemed to return to Jack. It would have been nice to have at least one free moment without him in my head.  
  
David continued on. We ploughed through the Les, the Refuge, Hearst, Pulitzer, and finally (somehow) we got to the leaflets.  
  
"Y'know, I still haven't seen a single one of those," I remarked.  
  
"Really?" David said, surprised.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Oh, well, I've got one in my room. I'll show it to you," he said, and raced out before I could even answer.  
  
I continued on happily. I was feeling strangely optimistic. We had history. Going over to the cupboard to put away a mug I suddenly began to hear the murmur of voices, audible now without our conversation to get in its way.  
  
It was Jack and Sarah.  
  
Of course I had to listen.  
  
Jack was talking, his words too low to hear. Sarah, being a touch shriller, was much easier to make out.  
  
"She looks like she's never worn a dress in her life," she was saying.  
  
Jack said something but it wasn't enough; she continued on.  
  
"Not to mention that necklace. And as for her brother-"  
  
"Found it!" David said as he burst in. "Hey, Samantha, what's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing," I said, reaching in to drain the sink. "I'm fine."  
  
"Sorry I took so long; it was under some things."  
  
"That's fine," said, starting out the door.  
  
"Don't you want to see it?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The leaflet...you wanted to see it, didn't you?"  
  
"Um-no. I'd better be goin'. But thanks anyway." I flung open the door to the rest of the apartment and found Jack and Sarah in heated discussion, conveniently growing quiet once they saw me.  
  
"Well," I said, sounding as composed as possible, "I've had a very nice time, thank you for inviting me, but I think I'd better go home."  
  
"Oh!" Sarah said. "I'll get your coat."  
  
"Get mine too," Jack called. "I'm going with her."  
  
*~*~*  
  
It was just as easy to talk to him as it always had been. He was still one of my best friends, and whatever momentous change I had expected to take place that night had failed to materialize. I tried to be optimistic. Even if nothing happened we could still walk like this after dark, speaking idly, being friends. Even if nothing happened, he would always be Jack.  
  
But as we got closer and closer to our destination there grew to be a sense of urgency. I felt like I had to say anything at all that meant something.  
  
"Jack," I said at last, "I heard you an' Sarah talking."  
  
"Oh," he said, and was silent for a moment. "Sam, Sarah's just jealous," he blurted out.  
  
"Jealous?"  
  
"Yeh. Of you and me, y'know? We've known each other so long."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I'm sorry she said that, though," he said, apologetically. "She's not like that. Most of the time."  
  
"I know," I managed. "You're lucky to have her."  
  
And then there was more of the Jacobs business. About what it would be like to have parents, a sister, a brother. Somewhere along the line I realized that maybe Jack didn't want Sarah, especially-that all maybe Jack wanted was to have a family.  
  
We had reached the lodging house now. It was time for me to go inside.  
  
"Can you imagine that, Sam?" Jack said. "To have somethin' like that? To have a place t' come home to?"  
  
I looked over at him. Standing there with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, the earnest expression on his face that I almost never saw. "You got us, Jack," I said softly.  
  
And then he kissed me.  
  
It was nothing, really. He leaned in, looked at me for a moment, and gave me a dry, soft kiss on the mouth. It was over before it even began.  
  
"What was that for?" I asked.  
  
"Nothing," he said awkwardly. "You looked pretty."  
  
It had been my first kiss. I stepped forward, and let him give me my second. And for a second, I knew what to do. I knew what was happening, I knew what I wanted. For a second, I had it.  
  
When he broke away, he looked like he'd just been punched in the stomach. "I'm sorry," he said.  
  
"Don't be."  
  
"No, I-I can't."  
  
"What do you mean?" I said, puzzled.  
  
"I just-I have to leave, Sam." I reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched and pulled away. "I can't do this. Not now." He left after that. Walking quickly. Just before he disappeared, he looked over his shoulder, and I pretended not to see him.  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC... 


	5. Take Me Or Leave Me

A/N: Thanks and a giant internet hug to everyone who supported (and will hopefully continue support me) in the endeavor. Sorry this chapter took sooooo long to post, but my muse ran away and I couldn't find her for days. She only came back yesterday when Backstage brought her to me, having found her trying on Diamond's dresses. Anyway, my muse *finally* acknowledged the fact that she really has no place in the world of fic and I have now chained her to the computer, where she it jabbing vigorously (if rather angrily) at the keys. *~*~*  
  
The Newsie Princess Of Brooklyn  
  
*~*~*  
  
I didn't cry that first night, or the night after that, or the night after the night after the night after that. For the longest time, I didn't even feel it. After he walked away it was all I could do to get into the lodging house and fall into bed, staring at the darkness that surrounded me on all sides and willing myself to fall asleep. Through the mattress I could feel the weight of that cigar box filled with nickels and dimes and silver dollars aglow with hope. If I had had the energy I think I would have gotten up, pulled it out and thrown the whole thing out the window. But at that moment the best I could do was to close my eyes and try to forget.  
  
Over the next few days I became very good at avoiding people. I avoided my friends at the lodging house, I avoided anyone who had heard about my dinner with the Jacobses, I avoided people who looked at me on the street or asked me the time of day. Most of all, I avoided Spot. It was only after a week, when he finally caught up with me and arranged to meet for breakfast the next morning, that I had to acknowledge my plan might harbor a few flaws. I knew he deserved to find out what had happened, and why I had been acting so strangely, and what Jack had said-but I still had no intentions fessing up unless I was forced to. Which, I was sure, was what was going to happen. But after all was said and done, he was still my brother.  
  
We both had the same thing as we had before, and just like last time I only sipped my coffee, sick with anticipation. He looked like he didn't want to ask the question any more than I wanted to answer it. Instead of the uneasy small talk he had made with me last time he was quiet for longer than I could remember him being. When he finally spoke up it came from nowhere, startling me so much I jumped in my seat.  
  
"Sammy, somethin' happened last week that you're not tellin' me about, and I wanna know what's going on." It all came out in a rush, each word falling over each other trying to get to the finish line first.  
  
"Nothing's goin' on," I said evasively, taking a tiny bite of my oatmeal.  
  
"Sammy," he said, forcing me to lock eyes with him, "c'mon. You really think you can fool me that easy?"  
  
So I told him. Everything. What else was there for me to do? He had to hear it and I had to tell it, and it was only when I was done talking that I realized I had started crying.  
  
My god. Tears. When was the last time I had felt tears on my cheeks? I couldn't remember a time I had wept since the day our mother died. But of course there must have been others--how could there not have been? But it was such a strange feeling to be sitting there staring down at the scarred wood of the table as I tried in vain to purge everything I had felt over the last six months. And for all I was worth I couldn't think of a single time in the last ten years when this had happened.  
  
Spot must not have remembered anything either. At the beginning of the conversation he was mainly curious and felt only mild indignation towards Jack. At the end of it he was about ready to kill him. I was, to be honest, more than a little tempted not to try to dissuade him.  
  
"Spot," I said finally, after he had fumed and smoldered long enough to begin to think about calming down, "whatever you're thinkin' about doing, don't."  
  
He looked at me levelly. "How can I *not* do somethin'?"  
  
"Because. I asked you not to."  
  
"You know he deserves a good beatin', don't you?"  
  
"Yes," I said quietly. And I did. I hated him so much for what he had done to me that at that moment I couldn't even stand to think about him. But I knew I had to try harder. I had to get to the bottom of it and still have hopes for a happy ending, and no matter how satisfying the idea of letting Spot beat him to a bloody pulp was, I knew that I could never let him.  
  
"So...you know what you have to do, don't you." Of course I did. But I let him tell me anyway. "You gotta talk to him, Sam. You can't avoid him for the resta your life."  
  
"Sure I can."  
  
"You know what I mean. Be a man, Sam."  
  
Reluctantly, I smiled. I had a feeling the sort of girl Jacky boy generally went for didn't usually follow this kind of advice. *Take me or leave me, Kelly* I thought. And for the first time, I truly believed it.  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC... 


	6. Stay

*~*~*  
  
The Newsie Princess Of Brooklyn  
  
*~*~*  
  
I didn't waste any time. I knew that if I hesitated, for even a second, I would get scared and back down, and I might never try again. So I went to Tibby's that very night, right when I knew he'd be there. Him and all the other Manhattan newsies, it turned out-but I didn't mind that. In fact, in a way, I preferred it. If everyone else was there, I thought, then nothing too awful could happen.  
  
I saw him before he saw me. He was talking, laughing, that bandanna around his neck like always, and for a moment I forgot. It was as if nothing had happened at all. We could be friends again, to sit on the docks in the cool still night and swap stories and joke with each other and forget that I was a girl and he was a boy and we had kissed one October night. And then I remembered what was at stake, went over to the long table and sat down.  
  
And after he noticed me, he pretended for a long time not to. I had tried that before and it hadn't worked and I knew that soon he would realize that too. So I talked to Crutchy and Race and sneaked some roast beef off of somebody's plate to try to steady my nerves, and didn't hear anything that was said to me for a good twenty minutes. It was only when he got up and looked at me and motioned to me that the layers were peeled away and I saw what I was about to do. If the place wasn't jammed with bodies I think I would have ran out the door.  
  
He had tucked himself away in a corner well out of sight of almost everyone. *He doesn't want to embarrass himself, is that it?* I thought, not willing to give him an inch. But even then I think I knew it wasn't true.  
  
"So what's goin' on, Jack?" I asked. "'Cause I think you know something I don't."  
  
"I like you, Sam," he said uncomfortably, fidgeting in his seat, looking around nervously as if he was trying to find the nearest exit. "I really do. I mean...I guess I always have but-it took somethin' like that for me to understand. Y'know?" I nodded, waiting for the catch. "But I like Sarah too-and I got something with her-and I don't want to-to-"  
  
"Ruin it," I finished for him. "Because I got in the way."  
  
"That's not what I mean."  
  
"Well you gotta figure something out," I said. "You gotta decide what you want." I was crying again. Damn it. I rubbed the tears from my eyes, not wanting him to see. "Because until you can look me in the eye and tell me I'm more important to you than-"  
  
"I do care about you, y'know. And it's not easy for me, neither. It's not easy to have somethin' really great going for you, and then to fall-"  
  
"Don't say it." He looked at me pleadingly. "Don't say it unless you can say it to her." And the tears were coming fast now and I couldn't do anything to make him think nothing was wrong. I couldn't deny it anymore.  
  
"I just can't do this. No matter how much-no matter how good it could be with you-I can't break it off with her. I can't risk it. I love Sarah, you know that. And I can't mess things up with her-"  
  
It was all I needed. I got up to go. "Sam," he called. "Wait. Stay."  
  
But I couldn't. What did I have to stay for?  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC... 


	7. Flying

*~*~*  
  
The Newsie Princess Of Brooklyn  
  
*~*~*  
  
All of a sudden, I needed out of that city. It felt as if I had cut the last tie that was tethering me to the ground and now I was ready to fly.  
  
Everything was crowded. I would walk outside in the morning and not be able to breathe. The dust was too thick to see the sun in the daytime and the lights were too bright to see the stars at night. I knew I couldn't stay there a day longer. That if I didn't leave as soon as I could, I would be suffocated. There was only one person left who I cared about, only one person, it seemed, who would really care if I went away. And even he didn't put up much of a fight.  
  
"You really wanna do this?" Spot asked.  
  
I nodded, my mouth full of toast. It was breakfast again. There are, as it turns out, some traditions that you just have to honor, even after everything else has changed.  
  
He looked down at his plate. "It's the right thing to do," he said reluctantly.  
  
"I know," I said. But for some reason I needed to be told, just one last time. "You don't think it's runnin' away?" I asked, my voice low despite the fact that the place was nearly empty.  
  
"No," he said. "You needed some time away. You need t' figure some things out."  
  
I looked out the window at the people going by, men hunched down into their collars, children with mittens fastened to their sleeves being lead across the street by their mothers. Winter was closing in on us now, and the first snow would come any day. I had been in Brooklyn too long-I needed to see the rest of the world, to follow the setting sun out west. I needed to stretch my legs.  
  
These were my excuses for leaving home, and both of us could go on believing they were true for as long as we wanted. Not that they were lies, exactly. They all took part in my decision. But they weren't the truth, that both Spot and I knew. We knew that that no amount of sun- loving or itchy feet would have made me want to leave the closest thing I had ever had to a home. We knew that there was only one thing that had made me choose to go, and only one thing that would make me choose to stay.  
  
"He really loved you, y'know," Spot said.  
  
I didn't have to answer for him to know what I thought.  
  
"He did. He practically grew up with you. You were the closest thing he ever had to real family, an' if he had given you a chance you would've been the closest thing anyone ever had t' real love."  
  
"Yeh, then why didn't he?" I said dully.  
  
"Don't talk that way," Spot said fiercely. "You know what it feels like to be the underdog yer whole life and not have anything goin' for you. The minute something good happens, you're gonna grab hold of it while you can. Jack's got a girl he's crazy about who feels the same way about him, an' you got no right to expect him to throw that all away."  
  
My god, I would have killed him right then and there if he hadn't been right. He looked at me apologetically, and saw that I understood.  
  
"He broke my heart, you know," I said softly.  
  
"I know. Don' worry about it, though. The first few times it usually grows back."  
  
I smiled. I think it was then that I truly realized I was finally leaving all of this behind, the good and the bad. But mostly the good.  
  
"You can always come with me," I said suddenly. I knew that the answer would be, but something still made me ask.  
  
"Nah," he said. "I gotta take care of the boys. Besides, you gotta do this on yer own."  
  
"I know. But you'll still miss me, won't you?"  
  
"Like it or not, I'm still your brother."  
  
It was the only answer I wanted to hear. "So you'll take me down to the station?"  
  
"Already?" he said reluctantly. I nodded. I had money in my purse, my suitcase hidden neatly under my chair. I had said my good-byes, and whoever I hadn't taken care of-the one person I hadn't taken care of, if I was going to tell the truth-Spot would for me. I had everything I needed, including the courage that it had taken so long for me to find. I was ready.  
  
*~*~*  
  
"So where you going?" Spot asked. We were standing at the ticket office, ready to shell over the money for a ticket, and I suddenly realized I had no idea. I had always thought Santa Fe, but that seemed impossibly wrong now that only one ticket was going to be bought.  
  
"I dunno," I said. He didn't seem all that surprised.  
  
"Well where do you wanna go," he asked.  
  
It was such a simple question. "I always wanted t' see the Pacific," I said.  
  
"California?"  
  
"Yeh, sure. Why not?"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
So we bought the ticket. I still had enough money to keep me fed and clothed and taken care of for a while, and after that I could work. By the time the train was ready to leave it was already crowded with holiday travelers and the like, but I still manage to find an empty compartment. I loaded my suitcase, and when I took my seat Spot was on the platform, right outside my window. I reached out my had and took hold of his to say a last goodbye.  
  
"Write me," he said.  
  
"Yeh? You'll be able to read it?" I said, making a feeble attempt at humor.  
  
He grinned. "You'll come back. Ya just need some time away. Don't go thinkin' you can lose me this easy."  
  
I laughed, more for his benefit than mine. "I'll be okay."  
  
"I know you will."  
  
"You'll say goodbye to him for me?" I asked quickly.  
  
"Of course."  
  
I could feel the engines starting. A strange mechanical shifting and I was on my way. Spot shouted something above the noise that sounded like 'love' as my hand was ripped from his. The train was going faster by the second and he ran alongside until the platform ended and I was hurtling into the unknown, farther and father away, until I couldn't see him at all. 


	8. Epilogue The Unending

*~*~*  
  
The Newsie Princess Of Brooklyn  
  
*~*~*  
  
Going, going, gone. As she sits, waiting for the future, the world slips past her in a dizzying parade, and it is all she can do to watch.  
  
She presses a cold hand to the colder glass of the window, searching for some fiber of truth.  
  
She thinks of the boy who broke her heart. How he had taken his sharp knife and stripped away all the protective layers of guardedness and defense that had softened the blows until now. She been left with pure feeling. A liquid thing, it knew no boundaries. She had had to relearn the rules, to play a new game that she had only seen from afar. And she had failed. But he had left her still with something greater than she could have imagined. She was wounded now, but soon she would be stronger. Soon she would be stronger than she had ever been before.  
  
This is not an ending. As the trains speeds on and leaves everything she has known behind, speeds on into the night and then the next morning without stopping for breath, she realizes that she has survived. She realizes that she will go on living, no matter what happens. She realizes that you can go on loving someone even if they don't love you back. Even if they aren't there; even if you never see them again. But she will see him again. This she is certain of.  
  
This is not an ending. This we must be sure of. Just as Samantha knew that the land laid out before her would never end, she knew that her love for Jack would last just as long. And in this, at least, she was right.  
  
*~*~*  
  
Darlings, don't despair. This is not the end of Samantha Conlon. Six years translates to about a month in ff.net time, right? And when she arrives....we'll put on our vests (yes we'll put on our vests) and we'll stick out our chests (yes we'll stick out our chests) and be off! to the races again...  
  
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you all.  
  
XOX Dakki 


End file.
